


The Fade and Fading

by FoxyWolfMeerkat



Series: The Fade and Fading [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Blood Magic, Body Horror, Hawke adopted some kiddos, M/M, mentions of abuse (non-graphic), mentions of child death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-29 18:06:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12090489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxyWolfMeerkat/pseuds/FoxyWolfMeerkat
Summary: After a desperate act, the Inquisitor is revealed to be a blood mage.





	1. Rescue Efforts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Body Horror tag only applies to this chapter.

_Falon'Din halani, ame teldirthalelan._

Not even a day had passed, but he was here. Walking the Fade again (this time alone), tempting far more than just fate in an attempt to fix a decision he’d made in a distressed heartbeat.

It’d been quiet however. Eerie and dead without The Nightmare’s smothering presence. Hanhari was a little surprised by just how much of a difference the demon’s departure had made. The Fade bent to his will, if not directly under his will even with the demon gone. Rocks, or what seemed to be rocks, rose up before him like a path. Or perhaps more accurately a bridge, taking him high above to the floating islands steadily. He had his staff in hand, grip tight as the gentle _tah tah tah_ of it striking the stone beneath him helping to keep things feeling solid. Particularly when one of the stones under him shifted or shivered. He couldn’t stop if he didn’t outright lose his balance. Slow, hesitant steps also helped as he felt his way up the ‘stairs.’

The sheer lack of demons was distressing, but Hanhari tried to look at it as a blessing. It meant he’d have more energy for Hawke.

If he was even still here.  
If he was even still alive.

_Where’s Hawke?_

Hanhari had never heard such mesilde aven. Despite having command over several languages, nothing quite covered the agony he’d heard in Varric’s voice right then.

And imagining Hawke’s children when they got back to Skyhold without him?

Mythal'enaste i amal Fenris. Hanhari couldn’t stomach any of the images he’d been able to conjure of Hawke’s bonded on hearing the news.

He’d just… trusted the other man. Something about him made it hard to even consider the equally willing Grey Warden at his other side. Hawke was strong and sure and… onharonun.

This was not an acceptable end to that man’s journey.

The Fade around him… It had rahnras inanshos. The higher he went (and Creators help him resist the urge to look down) the further out Hanhari could see. Hazy green horizon, the Black City itself to his left, grey seas and stone in sharp shapes and soft ones and sometimes melting away into what looked like smoke. In the distance (or was it actually under the Black City?), long past where he’d ever be able to reach it, was what surely had to be a mirage of a swamp. This was bellanaris.

…He really shouldn’t be here. No living person belonged here.

Hanhari couldn’t really appreciate the parts of the view that didn’t seem to be actively mocking him, even with the stiff peace. His eyes mostly scanned ahead, searching for anything that would tell him where he was heading. The little sleep he’d gotten had been filled with the undeniable feeling that Hawke was still recoverable in some sense, but it was laced with equal amounts of dread. No demons. In fact, it was the first dream Hanhari had had since the Breach had first opened up. Not that he’d breathed a word about the disquieting absence. Nor would he now admit that he’d probably been strengthening the enemy all this time.

If The Nightmare was dead, then surely…?

The mage tried to ignore the fact that it seemed like he was heading away from where he’d left Hawke. Not just up but… Was that blood?

Hanhari hurried forward at the splatter of red along the side of the floating island, breaking into a run when he spotted a glint of armor. The closer he got, the more he could actually see. The arm was clearly broken. The gauntlet on it had dug into the rock it was contorted around, leaving disturbing claw marks in the side of it. The fingers were still dug in and keeping the hand in place despite the body horror.

The rest of Hawke didn’t really look much better.

Bloodied and battered, most of his iconic armor was in tatters. The bevor was smashed in, but seemed to have done it’s job ultimately. Hawke’s right shoulder had not fared as well. His left arm also looked broken but not nearly as destroyed as it’s twin. One leg had been stripped of the heavy armor that had been there, leaving his foot exposed and possibly twisted but relatively unharmed for how little that meant. The other was less lucky, the armor smashed in. Even his chest looked a little misshapen.

Enastal enal'o telamun, he was still breathing. Somehow neither bled out or rendered lifeless upon whatever horrific impacts he’d suffered. But time was likely not on his side. Hanhari moved as quickly as he could, freeing Hawke’s hand and pulling the big human man onto his shoulders. Again, his desires changed the face of the Fade and he found himself back where he started far faster than he had found Hawke. Likely for the best, he wouldn’t be able to keep carrying such weight.

 

Tumbling out into solid ground again, Hanhari closed the rift he’d made practically on instinct and refocused on Hawke. Firstly getting the damaged armor off of him. He should have been bringing the man back to camp for help but… No. The healers there were already too busy dealing with the aftermath of Adamant. Hanhari could heal the Champion.

No matter what his methods would mean he’d be losing. Leliana would dutifully cover it up until he’d killed Corypheus at least. Nisel thanathe than, tu isa ghilanas. Tel'sael melava.

Forcing the blood still in the man’s body to stay there, Hanhari grabbed his own knife and carved down his left arm. He knew exactly what to do, despite a lack of personal practice.

Too many times watching his father nearly kill himself doing just this probably.

Bones first, loose blood and thick muscle forcing them into the proper places before fusing them enough to hold. Then damaged muscles and sinew and organs. Mercifully few of the latter, thank the Maker. Lastly, most draining of them all, restoring blood and hopefully consciousness.

His vision steadily got darker as he worked despite the fact the sun was likely approaching the horizon. His absence would soon be found, if it hadn’t already.

\-----

Garrett woke feeling like the Fade had chewed him up and spat him out.

Wait…. No that was definitely what had happened.

Had Fenris found him?

Hadn’t he been dying?

Or was he already dead and the Maker was still being an asshole in his afterlife? That wouldn’t surprise him at all.

Hawke looked up as he realized the weight on his chest was warm. He felt so heavy. His shoulders were pulled up by his wobbly arms before he could whip his head up.  
Short hair and pointed ears. Hair was… red? Still too dark to be sure. It was a man. He was still alive. Small guy.

…Why the fuck wasn’t he in the…

Well shit.

Hawke squirmed to his feet, pulling the limp but light body up with him. It was only then that he realized the Inquisitor was bleeding profusely from his left arm. And those cuts were sickeningly clean.

Blood mage.

Of course the Herald of Andraste would be a blood mage. He was way too perfect otherwise.

Still, the younger mage had been nothing but kind and helpful in the time that Hawke had known him. Mustering up what magic he could, the human sealed the cuts with some difficulty. What they’d been for wasn’t really clear. It couldn’t have been to get into the Fade. He had the Anchor for that. The lack of dead bodies around them said it wasn’t for combat most likely.

…Could blood magic heal? Hawke remembered being a lot more fucked up than this.

Seemed ridiculous, but the man supposed stranger things had happened to him in the past.

Following the closest thing to a trail of small feet as he could discern in the sand with the early morning darkness around him, Garrett headed where he hoped he’d find other people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Falon'Din halani, ame teldirthalelan - Falon'Din help, I’m an idiot  
> mesilde aven – pathetic words  
> Mythal'enaste i amal Fenris – Mythal bless/grace and protect Fenris  
> onharonun – a wondrous good  
> rahnras inanshos - eerie prettiness  
> bellanaris - eternity/forever  
> enastal enal'o telamun - blessing coming from the bad  
> Nisel thanathe than, tu isa ghilanas – He would be a useful tool, enduring his fate  
> Tel'sael melava – Not the first time


	2. False Dawn

Varric woke to chaos.

“He’s missing! The Inquisitor is missing!” - Variants on that were spouted by dozens of unfamiliar voices.

Sparkler was calm when he finally picked up on the mage’s voice among so many others. The man bitched like a spoiled prince but his acting was right on up there with Nightingale’s. It was doubtless that he’d been just as shaken up as everyone else who’d been in the Fade. Let alone everything at Adamant in general. So far he hadn’t had any kind of major breakdown.

Curly and the Seeker were ordering people around like there was no tomorrow. Which, without the Inquisitor, was probably a lot closer to the truth than anyone wanted to actually admit out loud. Varric certainly wouldn’t want to.

Which made it stranger and stranger the longer he was left alone in his tent. Everyone else was up and moving but no one was coming to get him. He opted not to dwell on just why they most likely weren’t and dragged himself up to join the fray instead. Following the irate snapping of the Seeker’s voice, he tracked her down to ask how long they’d known about his absence.

Dawn, which it still was, and his bedroll had been completely cold. The tent had no damage nor was the bedroll strewn about in any way that suggested anything other than him getting up and leaving on his own. Whether or not that was an actual relief remained to be seen. They were still way behind the man, wherever he’d gone.

Uninjured soldiers combed the area, picking through sparse shrubbery, dunes, outcroppings, and any mines or caves nearby for any signs of the man. It seemed like slow going work but that could have just as easily been the impatient atmosphere.

The sun was still cresting the horizon when people started getting quiet. A static-y sort of quiet that reminded Varric of the aftermath of Haven. When the Seeker picked out where the muted mood was coming from, she shoved a open path more than wide enough for Varric to follow in the wake of. And what he saw…. His mouth was drier than all of the Western Expanse.

Hawke. Stained with blood and covered in repulsive bruises but alive and very much not in the Fade. He was leaning on two of the party of three who’d managed to find him. As soon as he was near one of the fires in the large camp, he lowered himself to the ground and sprawled happily by its warmth.

The third soldier was carrying the Inquisitor. Unconscious but equally alive. Sparkler broke from the crowd first, taking the little elf from the other man’s arms.

“Was he- Is he hurt? What happened?”

“No, he is not hurt at all. The Champion of Kirkwall must have healed him though, he is pale see? Not enough blood. I think he will be okay though.” The Orlesian did their best to soothe the frightened Tevinter, even guiding him towards the healers tents for good measure. Most of their friends went with him but Varric had heard enough for now. His attention, and feet, went straight to Hawke.

“You bastard. You are never allowed to die on me like that again.”

Hawke nodded slowly, “Promise. …I’m getting too old for this shit Varric. …I’m gonna take the girls and go home and leave this saving the world crap to the next generation of stupid people.”

“You very nearly didn’t have a choice in the matter.” He sat down next to the human man with a groan. “…What were you thinking Hawke?”

“…I was thinking… This shit is all on me. The Mage-Templar war. Probably Corypheus. …And the Inquisitor was there. Thedas needs him, and I’m willing to die if it means there’ll still be a world for my family to live in. …Fenris would understand, eventually.”

“Broody is a lot of things Hawke, but understanding still isn’t one of them.” Varric wasn’t entirely surprised when he didn’t get an answer back from the human. When the snoring started up, the dwarf pushed a hand through mostly grey hair. The slight stickiness he encountered was just another reminder of how close they’d been. He was glad he wouldn’t need to look at his hands for a bit.

He never should have asked Hawke to come to Adamant.

Maybe the Seeker would have bitched and moaned but Glowy would have understood.

\-----

Dorian was sparking as he paced. Eyes on his feet as he fought the urge to grind his teeth, or to scream, or to find something to burn into nothingness.

How _dare_ the Inquisitor go back to the Fade! How _dare_ he leave camp alone! And without warning anyone! How _dare_ he come back with all the warmth gone from his skin, limp like a corpse…

“Hey, ‘Vint.”

Didn’t he know what happened the last time people went into the Fade? And now, with next to no plausible denial, he’d done it again?! Once was bad enough! Didn’t he realize what this would start?

“Dorian!”

His head snapped towards Cassandra’s voice, “What?! What do you want?!”

“If you do not calm down, you will electrocute someone.” Her eyes narrowed at him, lips pulled thin. The way she had her arms folded reminded Dorian of a rather grouchy nanny he’d had growing up. He could feel his shoulders pulling together even tighter.

“Fine,” he snarled, “it’s not like the Inquisitor just needlessly put his life at risk again after a venture that nearly killed him.”

“Dorian darling, that attitude isn’t necessary,” Vivienne tutted. “Unnecessary though it was, it’s one less life lost. And a rather important life no less, depending on who you ask. Frankly, I don’t think that’s the part of this that most badly needs discussion.”

The male mage sneered at her, “Oh, and what pray tell do you think needs to be discussed so badly?”

“The cause of our Inquisitor’s injuries. And not here. Cullen, perhaps your tent would best serve in this situation. If, that is, you can get us privacy?”

“That can be arranged. …The doctors haven’t found anything yet though? Shouldn’t we let the healers have their turn before we assume anything?”

Iron Bull grunted, “No. No we shouldn’t. The boss isn’t dying.”

“You saw him! He looked dull _and_ he wasn’t as warm as he should have been! How can you know that he’s not-”

“Trust me ‘Vint. He’s fine.”

If Dorian got any more ruffled, he’d probably explode. It was truly magical that it didn’t happen when the Qunari grabbed him by the arm and dragged him along to the Commander’s headquarters.

 

For as big as the tent was, it was definitely not meant to have this many people in it. Dorian shot Cassandra a very dirty look when he realized she’d silenced his magic. After all, the disrespectful lummox pressed up against his back probably deserved the shock.

Cassandra didn’t even look back at him, “So… Iron Bull and Vivienne seem to know what’s going on. Is there anyone else so well informed?”

“I am Seeker,” Solas said softly. “Though I question the use of telling those who are not as aware.”

“He’d never hurt us. He wants to help. He only hid it because that’s what they made him think was right.”

Dorian looked to the spirit with interest, remembering the taunting of The Nightmare. It had said his amatus was hiding something. …Something he thought would make most of them hate him. “Hid what Cole?”

All Dorian could see of the spirit’s face was his lips under the brow of his hat. “Arulin dhru, len or ladaral. Lin'thanelan. Tel'las sul lanaste melahn tel'dialem.”

Solas frowned deeply at Cole’s words. No one else seemed to have a clue. Predictably.

“So… It’s elfy bullcrap?”

“No.” Solas bit the word out, glaring at the woman.

“Will someone just spit it out?!” Dorian’s hands were in fists at his side, and he all but just resisted the urge to stomp his foot like a toddler.

Vivienne rolled her eyes, “Honestly dear, I’m surprised you didn’t notice. But perhaps that’s prejudiced of me.”

“Blood magic ‘Vint. Why else would he have bled all over his arm and nowhere else but lose that much blood? The stains were flowing down from the underside of his arm too.” The Qunari grunted, lip curling the same way it had when he’d been told about The Nightmare.

“He’d never use it to hurt us. He’s a healer, just like his father showed him how.” Cole fussed with his sleeves, looking where Hanhari was lying despite the canvas blocking his view. His hat bent against the heavier leather.

“Vishante kaffas! He can’t be!”

“Yeah,” Sera chimed in, “he’s not crazy! This is stupid. You’re all stupid!” She stuck her tongue out at them all before she ducked down to crawl under the legs of those blocking her exit.

Solas’ face scrunched like he’d a large mouthful of tea as he watched her depart. “Blood magic is not inherently evil. It no more requires the summoning of demons than any other sort of magic.”

“Of course you’d approve,” Vivienne frowned at the elvhen apostate then looked to Cassandra and Cullen. “So, what’s to be done? Cover it up for now and make him tranquil later?”

“Venhedis! We will do no such thing! This is…. No!”

Vivienne gave him a dull look, “Deny it all you’d like dear, but the adults are talking now.”

Dorian spat a threat at her in Tevene and Iron Bull grabbed at his shoulder.

“…I need to discuss this with Leliana.” Cullen’s voice was barely audible as he pushed his face into his hands. “Having some time to think about it will… Well, maybe calmer heads will prevail. For now, we do nothing. There’s nothing we can do out here and as Vivienne so… delicately pointed out, we still need him for now.”

Dorian hissed, “He is not some object to be used as you see fit!” He muttered in Tevene as he pushed his way out of the tent, cursing the south and it’s unspeakable barbarism. He went back to the medical tent where his amatus still lie. …They’d… need to talk about this. But Dorian refused to let the man live out whatever lied ahead of him alone.

…It was a little ironic. The Tevinter and the all-but-divine Herald and yet… Of course, it’d always been ironic, even before this unpleasant little realization.  
Dorian got settled for the day by his amatus’ side, holding his hand in silence. For one reason or another, or perhaps several, he’d be left alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:  
> Arulin dhru, len or ladaral. Lin'thanelan. Tel'las sul lanaste melahn tel'dialem. - Personal belief, blood of the healing. Blood mage. No hope for forgiveness/mercy when uncovered.


	3. Whatever You Want to Know

“So you knew about this too?” Cassandra was baring her teeth at the dwarf. He was actually sort of glad Glowy couldn’t intervene this time, still back at camp where he was supposed to be trying to rest. There weren’t any tables around for her to crush him with at least and… More important than that, the Inquisitor thought so damn highly of the Seeker.

That demon knew it’s shit.

“He’s your friend Seeker. Besides, he did all of this! Where the hell would we be if I’d told you? He never gave us a reason to be scared of him, so I never had a reason to tell.”

“It’s blood magic! How many times did blood mages nearly kill Hawke?”

“And this one saved his life! I trust the Inquisitor. A few days ago I know you did too. He still trusts us, so the real question is whether or not we deserve it.”

“He lied to us! As did you! Again!” She jabbed a finger at him, and Varric could only roll his eyes.

“The very first thing that got suggested the first time he actually used blood magic since most of us met him, to save somebody’s life dare I mention, was to lobotomize him. Be angry all you want, that’s a pretty damn legitimate reason to lie to someone. He’s been sulking around like a kicked puppy all the way back from the Western Expanse. Maybe you could spend less time acting like a templar and more time acting like a Seeker, Seeker.” Varric waved the woman off, leaving her to boil over in the woods while he got comfortable by the last campfire before getting back to Skyhold. Hawke wouldn’t be sticking around much longer when they arrived, assuming things didn’t go to absolute shit, so he intended to try and enjoy what time he had with his friend.

\-----

Josephine followed the elf into the War Room when he passed by. The man moved like a corpse; too slow, shoulders slumped, arms limp at his sides. Cullen had sent letters ahead but… she still didn’t understand. Where could she begin? He was nothing like what she’d always thought a blood mage would be. Hanhari extended a hand to help the unfortunate at every turn, lent an ear to even those he disagreed with, could work or listen or sit for hours on end, and never sought unnecessary bloodshed. The diplomat could scarcely even think of a time she’d seen the elf haughty. She supposed he had a temper at times, but it was short outbursts at best. Quickly reigned in.

His eyes had the same dull quality of his movements as they met hers.

Hanhari was slumped back against the war table, on the right side so he didn’t damage their map or displace any of his advisors’ carefully set markers. She could see his arms trembling slightly and his knuckles were pale as his hands gripped the carefully preserved and polished wood.

“…Are you alright?” It wasn’t really the first thing she wanted to ask but…. He looked so sullen compared to the man who’d listen to her for hours on end, chuckling at her tales.

“No.”

“Is there anything I could do to help?”

“Probably not. …I appreciate the thought though Josephine.” The tiny smile he gave didn’t reach his eyes, “It means a lot to me that you’d ask at all.”

“…Why? Why would you learn…?” Forbidden magic. Condemned by Andraste, the Maker, even looked down upon by the Dalish last time she checked.

“My father taught me.”

“Did you ask him to?”

“No. I was seven, it was his duty to teach me how to wield my magic. I simply assumed it would include everything I’d seen him doing. And it did.”

_Blessed Andraste, who teaches blood magic to a child?!_

Her expression must have shown her horror (the fingers that raised to her lips didn’t help) because he continued softly.

“He didn’t teach me to fight with it. …Len'ere came with a lot more rules than any other kind of magic. Never use the blood of others, for example; if you need more than you can give then you’re asking too much. …Never use it to capture the minds of others, for that is the purpose of speech and if they will not listen then they are not worth your cause. Things like that. Though I am simplifying.” He looked down at his feet, wrapping his arms around himself and rubbing them as though he’d suddenly gone cold. “…I knew in theory the terrible things it could do, but…. It was much later in my life when I first learned what Thedas at large thought of… of it. My father did not tell me just what a hated practice it was. This is the third time I’ve used it in all the years since he died.”

“What were the other two times?” Josephine brought her hands together, rubbing hand over hand like a restless tide as she listened. It was far more… reasonable a tale than she was expecting. Though the implications remained rather disturbing.

“…Let’s wait for Cullen and Leliana. They’ll probably want to hear all of this as well.”

The Antivan nodded, heading over to the Inquisitor’s side. She considered touching him for a moment, a little clasp on the shoulder to soothe his nerves. Her own made even reaching out too difficult a task but being near him was not so impossible. Her hands continued twisting over each other but failed to wash away the tenseness in her person.

Leliana marched in with Cullen a few stiff minutes later, the woman looking stern and cold as she did when interrogating prisoners or traitors.

Which category did Hanhari fall under? Both?

Cullen simply stared at the floor, hand stuck behind his neck awkwardly. Even with all his avoidance, Josephine could spot the sorrow in his eyes. He’d known longer than either of the women, but it was doubtful that he’d tried to face this by himself. Perhaps it struck too close to old, bad memories but he didn’t seem quite distant enough. His eyes still had focus, rooted to the floor rather than drifting to distant Kirkwall. He took the position he always did behind the war table and started looking at the map instead, hands braced on the table.

The Spymaster glided straight past Josephine and placed her feet where the mage could see them. “How long have you known this magic?”

“As long as I’ve known any magic.” He didn’t look up or unfold his arms.

“Why only use it now?”

“Hawke would have died in the Fade. No one deserves that.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was afraid, and by the time I was no longer afraid of you I was afraid of losing the first real happiness I’ve had in a long time.”

“What else don’t I know about you?”

“…My birth clan was slaughtered because they were considered to be a cult. I watched all of them die. I still fear the clan that did it. Bandits may be a better word than clan. I don’t know where they are and I couldn’t tell you how to find them because they do not give humans their true name when those unfortunate enough to meet them live, nor did they give it to me. I have no intention of returning to the Lavellan when all this is said and done. Yes, they do know what I am. I only gained their trust after… after killing their old war-master. He did deserve it. …This is the third time I’ve used blood magic since the death of my family, and the other two times were well before I came to the Conclave. …That’s all I can think of that would be of any use to you, beyond details of the mentioned.”

Josephine had grabbed her mouth to stop the gasp that bubbled up, eyes wide. Some of those things… She couldn’t blame him for not sharing. It didn’t settle well in her mind that he was being so forward about it all now, making her many thoughts on all the new information swarm in her head.

“Why were they ‘considered’ a cult?”

“We worshiped the Maker alongside the Creators, as well as my father’s and my practice of blood magic. It was more the former than the latter.”

“Which you still believe, no?”

“Yes. …Though not openly until I came here. …I didn’t dare.”

There was a tiny loosening of Leliana’s tense posture, her folded arms sitting a little lower and her legs became less straight. But only just. If Josephine hadn’t been watching her, she never would have realized the difference. “I see. And what of the two other times you practiced blood magic?”

“With the Lavellan, the Keeper was trying to help me acclimate to the clan so I was allowed to assist the Healer with some things. …One of our hunters was with child, but her body brought her daughter into the world earlier than it should have. …With her permission, since we were alone, I gave my blood to see that asa'hallain lived to see the next day, and those beyond it.”

“And the other time?”

Hanhari looked up at Leliana, his eyes abruptly harder and crueler looking than even red lyrium. Josephine felt a chill go down her spine and his gaze wasn’t even directed at her. “…The other time I was bringing suffering and death on the reason that asa'hallain both came into the world too soon and left it too early. …He and I had never gotten along, but I doubt I would have been kinder even if he wasn’t elvar'naslen. Emma'len'ere held him still while I scorched his body, and after he died it tore apart his remains to draw in animals. …The only thing I would do differently now is how swiftly I would have brought him death. …And perhaps left his desecration to the animals alone.”

Leliana was quiet, eyes twitching as she searched his face for some hint of deception.

“…I’m so sorry.” Josephine was shocked she said it now, after such a gruesome story. Voice pinched and quiet, the woman pulled the elf into a hug.

He was still at first, but after a moment she’d feel a thin arm wrap gently around her back. “Te'nuas sar vhenan. It’s not your fault Josephine. Please don’t cry for my sake. This is all hard enough without making ara'lethal cry.”

“What of demons?”

Josephine jumped at the Commander’s voice and backed away from the Inquisitor again. She looked between the two men as she tried to remind herself how she should have been reacting.

Hanhari looked back to the blond, “I’ve never summoned a demon in my life. Contrary to popular belief, you don’t need any help from spirits or demons. That’s the whole point of blood magic. …My father taught me a… A code, I guess, along with the skill itself.”

Cullen pushed off the war table, hands coming to rest on his pommel reflexively. “Tell us this code then.”

“Firstly, use no blood but your own. If you need more blood than you can give then you’re asking for too much. Your body is the Maker’s gift to you and you’ve no right to use another man’s gift, even with their blessing. Secondly, summon no spirit or demon, you will twist the spirit and the demon will twist you: nothing good will ever come of it no matter how careful you fancy yourself. Thirdly, the only right way to use blood is to use it to heal. …Admittedly, I’ve broken that rule twice. Once as a… I want to call it an act of rebellion but in truth I only scared myself and disappointed my father. The second time I’ve already told you about. Fourth, it should never be used to augment any spells but those which heal or protect, and even then sparingly. Lastly, Ajualais te'ne ith erelin ehn tual dalathe. …Never cause undue harm, basically. Which… I suppose I’ve done once, depending on what one considers 'undue’ on a man who killed his own child anyway. Though most of the harming while he was alive was done with fire, not blood.”

“You seem proud to have killed that man.”

“…I should have done it sooner. If I had, asa'hallain might still be alive right now. Maybe I would have been exiled. Maybe even worse. But it would have been worth it. I don’t know if pride is the right feeling to describe what I feel however. …Look, I know you all have a lot to talk about. I imagine it will be easier to discuss without me here. …I trust your judgement more than my own. Whatever you decide, I won’t fight it.” Head held high, he walked toward the large doors separating them from the rest of Skyhold before turning to face them all. “I’ll be in my quarters until you’re ready for me.” Then, gracefully, he got down on one knee, bowing to the three advisors. “Nuvas ema ir'enastela. Se nyel myathem em.” He’d stand again and leave with just as much poise, not looking at any of them again as he left.

\-----

Hanhari couldn’t tell if he was happy or filled with dread when he found Dorian waiting in his chambers. “…I have much to tell you emma'lath. …If you want to listen. You don’t-”

“I don’t what?” The Tevinter mage snapped, turning to face the other from where he’d been looking out the windows across the room. “I don’t understand perhaps? Do save me the excuses, I’ve heard them all. Surely you should know this?”

“…You don’t have to stay, is what I was going to say. It doesn’t matter why… I hid this from you, even knowing your history with it. You deserve better than that.”

Hanhari watched his lips tense, hinting at a frown and his brows pull together pathetically. “Then why didn’t you tell me?”

“…Out of fear, out of habit? …Out of selfishness.” Hanhari looked down to his feet, repeating himself in resignation, “Out of selfishness. Absolutely out of greed. …Ma ane ara'shaos. You have so much of this beautiful hope within you and I… I wanted it so badly. You make me feel so much more… more alive. I wanted to give that sort of inspiration back to you too. I do love you so much. I just didn’t want my past getting in the way. …But I couldn’t let Hawke die that way. I’ll take whatever consequences come from fixing that mistake and I’ll pray that I haven’t hurt you as badly as I fear I may have.”

“Who taught you? A demon? I can’t imagine it was anyone savory with how strict the South is about it.”

“My father did when I first came into my magic. …He never told me just how foul it really could be, instead he…” Hanhari swallowed, “He taught me that, when used the 'right’ way, it was something sacred. The strongest healing a mage is capable of without pulling from spirits.”

“And where did he learn it, if you know.”

“Tevinter. I don’t know the details. If it was by observation or if he had to help do… things. I never asked. At the time, despite his urging to the contrary, I could only imagine Tevinter as a very cruel, irredeemable place. That was my mother’s opinion on the matter.”

“Oh. …I see. …Come. Let’s sit down. I imagine we’ll be talking for some time indeed.”

Hanhari nodded after a long second, not fighting the hand that grasped his arm and pulled him to sit on the edge of his bed.

He wondered why Dorian chose to sit here, instead of the seat by the stairs. More personal perhaps? Or maybe he was anticipating the conversation to be an exhausting one. It likely would be. The idea that the man may have even been considering lying down with him was painfully comforting even if he had little right to it. “I… I’m not sure where to begin.”

“Well, what is this 'right way’ your father instructed you on? You mentioned healing?”

“Yes. Healing the body with blood magic is every bit as effective as damaging it through the same means. Of course, everyone dies eventually. My father said the best way to know when to quit was when you’d need more magic than what you could pull from your own veins. …He liked pushing himself though. The condition I put myself into after healing Hawke, I saw him like that many times. It was always frightening, but I was told it was noble too. To value someone else’s life that much. Particularly a stranger or someone who’s supposed to be under your care. …He was also the sort of fool who would have healed his enemies but I find I’m not as compassionate.” Fearing he was rambling, Hanhari stopped short. He couldn’t bring himself to look up into the other man’s grey eyes, stomach knotting itself over heavy rocks.

“And… What about healing the mind?” It was spoken quieter than the Tevinter would usually speak, and Hanhari realized how tense and still the man beside him was. A bit like a fearful halla.

He curled in on himself, careful to make sure he wasn’t touching the other mage at all. “There is no right way to 'heal’ the mind. Not with blood magic at least. …And altering it isn’t healing it Dorian. That’s mutilation. It’s…” Hanhari shook his head, nearly growling at the thought of what the other had very nearly had done to him. “It’s abominable. I would never do such a thing. Not even to Corypheus. …Getting into another person’s mind like that… You can’t think of them as a person, I don’t think. …I don’t know how to do that.”

Dorian huffed softly, “Perhaps you could get lessons. Most people have little issue with it.”

“I’ll pass,” the elf said morosely. “…Would you like to hear about my family, Dorian? I see little point in putting it off any longer, now that you know the very ugliest thing about them. About me.”

“You said your father was from Tevinter.”

“Yes, as a slave. I… I don’t know the details, but I know that he, my mother, and my grandmother worked together to kill the magister who owned them. From there they managed to find someone to sail them across the sea and to the Free Marches. …I was actually born on the Tevinter coast. It’s strange to think how close I was to my life being something completely different. …I probably never would have met you, but…. Never mind. My father and mother were covered in scars. Whip marks. Ultimately they’d be whipped to death too. After losing his mother, fighting with his bonded to create a clan, trying to raise two free children… That’s how he went. It makes me sick, and I wonder if the clan that attacked us knew that. If it was deliberate. …I’m almost certain it was.”

“…You… You mentioned that you watched them die. Maker, that sounds horrible.”

“Whatever you’re imagining, emma'lath, it’s worse and I’ll spare you the details. My mother was a hunter. Savage as a mountain cat, stubborn as a goat, and constantly stoking a need to survive in me. She taught me how to hunt things, skin them, turn furs into clothes and blankets. All the practical things. My father taught me magic, history, belief, language, hope… Hope is not really a terribly practical thing. It’s good in a fight but…” Hanhari flinched away when Dorian reached out to touch him.

“…What makes you think hope is foolish…?”

“…Tuas mela'tama re banal. I have no right to anything in this world as I am but… I so want to believe Dorian. I want to believe that I’m the Herald of Andraste, I want to believe I deserve… any love, any trust, anything! But I’m a monster and there’s nothing I can do about it so I lied instead and now… I should have known better but it’s only made everything worse.” When Dorian tried to reach for him again he stood and turned away from the other.

“Amatus-?”

“No. I’m not. The man you… You gave that title to never existed. Get out. Mythal’s sake, for your own good, get out.”

“The man I gave that title to is right here and I will not hear another word of that nonsense!”

Hanhari heard Dorian stand but didn’t move. When he felt Dorian’s touch on his shoulder he spun around and backed up. “You aren’t comfortable with this. I can feel it. Underneath every good thing we might be will be the definite reminder of the worst thing that ever happened to you.”

“My father never actually-”

“But he made that decision. He would and he could. Maybe I wouldn’t, but I can and I’ll never forget that! I won’t subject you to it! Get out!” He pointed violently to the stairs, all but backing himself into the fireplace to make sure the human’s longer arms couldn’t reach him again.

Dorian gaped at his lover. He seemed nothing like himself now. He’d never had even half of a clue that this self loathing was present in him, buried in the roots of an otherwise unbelievably wonderful heart. “Amat-”

“GET OUT!” He shrieked, legs trembling unsteadily beneath him.

The cry made the Tevinter flinch. Could they be heard in the war room? Was someone about to come running to make sure Hanhari, of all people, didn’t hurt him?

And that was the plain of it, wasn’t it? Hanhari would never hurt him. All he’d wanted was to be loved without people seeing the blood magic first. …It would take some… getting used to, but he… “I love you,” he blurted, “so shut up Amatus.”

The bigger mage didn’t move quite fast enough to keep the elf from hitting the floor, but he dragged him up and back to the bed and held on tightly. “Shhh… Shhh Amatus,” he couldn’t spare a hand to wipe the tears from the squirming man, even lying down, but he at least could squeeze him reassuringly. “You’re afraid and not thinking straight. …Everything will be alright. You’ll see. I’ll stop at nothing until it’s true.”

It took some time, but eventually it seemed like he’d worn himself down too much to struggle further. Pulling back, he used the comforter below them to dry the Dalish man’s face off. Not really it’s intended purpose but far worse things had happened to the Orlesian silk since Hanhari had bought it in attempt to please his fussy tastes. “Amatus…. I’m sure about this, about you.” He smiled slightly at the memory it conjured as he continued, “More sure than I should be, in any case.”

The familiar words made his puffy eyes light up, and he reached forward to cling to Dorian’s shirt by a strap. “Vyn esaya gera assan i'mar'av'ingala…” His throat was raw and it made his voice a harsh whisper but he spoke anyway. “Y'sul'em… I’m not nearly good enough for you.”

“I’m afraid that isn’t your decision to make. …And you really are fantastic amatus. If I can’t trust you, who can I trust? I can forgive your transgressions, but I’m going to need you do the same. I can’t stand you crying.”

“…Sul'ma?” He nodded before pressing himself against Dorian’s chest. “Garahnen.” Hanhari swallowed hard a few times, trying to steady his breathing. “Anything for you. …Ar’abelas.”

“You really need to get into the habit of translating if you aren’t going to start teaching me amatus.”

“…Maybe I will. I’m curious what your accent would be like, admittedly. I did translate part of it. …Sort of. Enough.”

“I have a sneaking suspicion that last bit was 'I’m sorry’.”

“Some things are universal I suppose.”

“Think we can talk more without you having another fit? …Or would you rather rest your voice?”

“I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Len'ere – Blood magic  
> asa'hallain – her little halla  
> elvar'naslen – cruel/evil man  
> emma'len'ere – my blood magic  
> Te'nuas sar vhenan – Don’t be sorry (literally: Don’t trouble your heart)  
> ara'lethal – my kin/family  
> Ajualais te'ne ith erelin ehn tual dalathe – The Maker will not see a mage who causes destruction  
> erelin – mage  
> Ajualais – The Maker (Exclusive to the Atishalen (aka Hanhari’s birth clan))  
> Nuvas ema ir'enastela – Thank you very much (literally: May you have many great blessings)  
> Se nyel myathem em – You have honored me  
> emma'lath – my love  
> Ma ane ara'shaos – You are my happiness  
> Tuas mela'tama re banal - [You] Continue when there is nothing  
> Vyn esaya gera assan i'mar'av'ingala – [You] Would try to catch an arrow with your teeth. (meaning: You’re a fool/moron/etc)  
> Y'sul'em – But for me  
> Sul'ma – For you  
> Garahnen – Everything  
> Ar’abelas – I’m sorry (literally: My sorrow/regret)


	4. Cooler Heads?

Varric looked between the three advisors, trying not to feel tired. “Look, what do you want to know? I’ve been friends with blood mages before. If you want me to say that he doesn’t know what he’s doing, you’ve got another thing coming.”

“That is all we want: your honest opinion. You’re very good at giving it.” The spymaster nodded to him respectfully, hands clasped behind her back. Lady Nightingale’s back was too straight but her clothes swayed with the weight shifting between her legs and of course her hands usually stayed in front of her, not behind. Sides at most. So many tells from the spymaster… Varric wasn’t buying it.

“He’s a good kid. Maybe even the second best man I’ve ever met. His chances are already slim for making it out of this without all of us turning on him, I vote we don’t. Fact of the matter is, this doesn’t change anything. He’s been a blood mage this whole time and the Inquisitor would throw his life down for any one of us.” Varric grunted, “I’ll argue until the druffalo come home if that’s what it takes.”

Josephine shook her head, writing down what the dwarf had said, “That won’t be necessary Varric. …But we will keep it in mind.”

\-----

Vivienne put a hand on her hip, “I assume the Commander has already told you my stance on the matter at hand?”

Leliana nodded, “He has, but we were hoping you would elaborate?”

“On what my Lady? He is a maleficar, there’s only one or two suitable responses to such a thing.”

Josephine didn’t write down Vivienne’s answer yet, “You don’t care to know the details at all?”

“Details have a way of muddying up the facts Ambassador. We know the truth of the matter. Why would Andraste or the Maker purposefully choose someone who uses blood magic moreover? There’s no reason to feel any kind of reverence towards him. We have the power in this situation, and common sense says that we must act. How we act is up to you three so long as something is done.”

Josephine scowled, but put down Vivienne’s answer without any further protest.

\-----

Cole arrived just as the three heard the Inquisitor’s screaming, looking upwards with all of them. “Pacifying, pretending, pointless pandering. They cannot love me now that they know. These games are painful and I want them to let go.”

“What’s happening?” Cullen started around the war table, getting a grip on his sword.

“Dorian is refusing to leave. Elvyr'el, eth'el, enemah'sal ebalasha. First he needs to go. But he won’t. He isn’t afraid of beloved.”

Cullen stopped at the door, looking back while his sword was half drawn. “Should he be?”

“…He’d give us anything, but most of all he wishes he could have given us someone else. Sa'lin'on'el.”

Cullen grimaced and looked to Leliana instead. When the woman shook her head he’d replace his sword and return to them slowly. “What does he want us to do?”

“…He thinks he wants you to kill him.” Cole continued staring up. He was a pulsing, aching hurt right now but helping him was going to be complicated. He always remembered. “But killing him would be wrong. He doesn’t deserve it, he only wants to heal and help. We need to heal his hurt.” At last, Cole lowered his gaze, looking at them all with his owlish eyes.

“That may be easier said than done Cole,” Josephine said quietly.

“Yes.”

\-----

Solas held his head high as he entered the war room. He’d never really felt any strong need to come in here until now, but he focused on the Inquisitor’s advisors rather than taking in his surroundings. “If there is this much fuss about the matter then I presume you are not all of one mind?”

“We don’t intend to make any decision without taking the opinions of the Inner Circle into consideration.” Leliana leaned forward, placing her hands onto the war table.

“Fair enough. It wouldn’t do to find yourselves outnumbered in your quest to destroy him.” Solas sneered sourly. “Blood magic is no fouler than any other kind of magic. Our friend has shown himself as being nothing but responsible and kind with his skills and I will defend him if it comes down to it. …If you make a mistake, do you really wish it to be the one which cannot be remedied?”

Josephine glanced hesitantly between the stoic Cullen and Leliana, but neither of them looked back at her. Wilting, she wrote down the elf’s answer, “Thank you Solas… We will be sure to think about that.”

\-----

The Iron Bull was growling about blood magic under his breath as he came in, quick to look to Leliana. “So, what’d he have to say for himself?”

“He claims to have been taught from childhood by his father. Never summoned any demons, never committed blood sacrifice beyond bleeding his own person.”

“Sounds about right. …Knew he was hiding something but damn. …Don’t like it, but he’s a good guy. Helps that he isn’t going to be stuffing it down our throats. Too guilty. It matters to him, but I don’t think he wants to admit it. Anyway, he’s not a danger to anybody…. Okay he is a danger but not to any of us. Long as he doesn’t pull any crap, we don’t need to do anything. …And no, this isn’t going into any of my reports. Pretty sure they’d lose their shit.”

“Thank you Iron Bull,” Leliana nodded to him. “Do you want to know anything else?”

“If I can, I think I’d rather hear it from the boss. You get more information that way.”

“Fair enough,” Leliana looked to the side, watching Josephine write the Qunari’s thoughts down.

\-----

Blackwall entered looking more dower than usual. “I want to know why.”

“He did not learn blood magic of his own volition.” Josephine answered, the word ‘blood’ still heavy and sticky on her tongue, “The Inquisitor was taught it by his father as a tool for healing. He has never killed anyone to perform it and he does not cavort with demons, reportedly.”

The bearded man was silent, mouth tensing and untensing as he worked through the information. “Then why are we here? He’s a good man no matter what he knows, we already know that.”

Cullen sighed, “It is not so simple.”

“Isn’t it? I recall that he was just as, if not more horrified by what was happening to the Grey Wardens as the rest of us.”

“It is blood magic, Blackwall,” Leliana scolded. “It is dangerous, and forbidden for good reason.”

“He saved a man’s life out there. That is more real to me than any of your hollow excuses.”

“They are not excuses-!”

“Tell that to Hawke, then we’ll talk.” His lip curled at the red headed woman, eyes sharp in anger. “Miris knew about this too and she still trusts him. Hawke isn’t the first life he’s saved.”

Leliana’s eyes brightened with the remainder of the other elf, “Is that so? What did Miris tell you exactly?”

“It’s none of your damned business. I’ll send her in after me, if the Lady wants to tell you then she will.”

“Send her in then,” Leliana instructed, “if you have nothing more to say.”

“I don’t.”

\-----

The pale woman held herself tightly as she came in, avoiding the eyes on her by any means besides covering her face. “…You want to know why I trust ara'falon?”

“Yes, please. …I suppose that as part of the Lavellan, you’ve known about this for a long time?”

“…How much am I telling? I’m no tale spinner.”

“As much as you’re comfortable with. …Or at least what you think is important for us to understand.”

“The clan did not trust him at first. He was alin and he did not see us as his clan, but he didn’t know what more to do with himself than what he was brought to us for. I stayed away from him. Then he was allowed to help the healer.” Miris reached up with eyes still downcast, tugging on one of her wide ears. “I was pregnant. He saved my baby. It didn’t end there either: he loved Senna. It was the first time it seemed like he felt a part of us. He was patient and gentle with her like no one else, even though she refused to look at you and was quiet like the nighttime. Her death destroyed him as much as it did me. His revenge for it changed the clan though. They took it as a… sign that he would protect us by any means necessary.”

“What did you think about this revenge?” Leliana folded her arms as she asked, wishing the woman would just look at them. It lined up with what Hanhari had said so far, but that didn’t mean it was true.

“…I didn’t understand why Sennarel deserved to die for a long time. My family was gone all. I was angry with ara'falon. …I see a little better now. I’ve forgiven ara'falon mostly, but I still miss my bonded some nights.” That was better now too, but that was private. “Hanhari knows his allies.” She took her hand off her ear to push at the massive doors keeping her in the war room, getting out as soon as there was space to slip through and running back to the barn outside.

\-----

The Seeker was watching her feet at first as she came in, her thoughtful expression turning hard when the door closed and she looked up. “This is a serious matter, and truthfully I am having a difficult time knowing how to approach it.”

Josephine sighed sympathetically, “You and I both, but unfortunately it must be addressed.”

Cassandra asked for review of what they knew already, listening without interruption. “…His circumstances are not the average, that is for certain. But he does know better now, and it seems that he has crossed the line despite that. I fear most what it might mean for the future. We do not want to appear tolerant of it if this spreads as more than rumor beyond us, but also I wonder what else he might deem as being worth the risk.”

“What do you propose Cassandra? The Inquisitor has made it clear he won’t fight our decision, but there are others who will. Either way, this could tear the Inquisition apart from the inside.” Cullen gestured with one hand to punctuate his concern. The other stayed rested on the hilt of his sword.

“…The Maker did not do this on accident. He is testing us, but I do not know what the right answer is. So much of what was and is taught has been thrown into question lately.”

Leliana lowered her eyes, nodding. “I… admit, at times like these I wonder what Justinia would have done. …I’m inclined to believe that she would have had faith in him, but what if that is just my bias? …Our path is dark indeed.” She closed her eyes for a moment with her head still bowed before straightening up again. “What are you inclined to believe then, at least.”

“…For now at least, we are better off simply trying to keep him from using his power. At least until Corypheus has been defeated, word of this cannot leave Skyhold. It is best not even mentioned outside of this room.” Cassandra sighed, “We will address later when we get to later.”

\-----

Dorian closed the door behind him slowly. Tried as he had to fix it, the hair on his left side was a touch flattened and out of place. “Am I the last you’ve spoken to then?”

“No. Sera has thus far refused us,” Leliana corrected with some irritation.

“I suppose I’m not surprised. She’s rather frightened of regular magic let alone… this. It’s a shame really, they’d made such charming friends.” Dorian took a deep breath, “Now then, what decision have you made?”

“We haven’t made one yet Dorian.” Josephine looked over her notes, “The overall attitude is more accepting than you’d think, but both sides are quite charged.”

“Well that’s something. …My proposal is rather simple. We defeat Corypheus, and rather than making him Tranquil, I take him. If it’s a choice between 'in serious danger’ and 'doomed’ I’ll take the odds of the side that isn’t zero.”

“Take him?” Josephine tilted her head at the man, “Take him where?”

“Why, the one place where blood magic scarcely makes people bat an eye of course. It’s horrifically risky and while I don’t fancy the idea for a moment it’s better than… Just, anything but that.”

“Tevinter.” Leliana hummed softly, “It is not a bad idea actually. If he is discovered there it would be written off as-”

“As my country continuing to be terrible. Yes yes, covering our reputation is important as well. Maker help us if it turns out he’s anything but perfect. He’s already an elf after all.” Dorian rolled his eyes. “…Are you willing to give us that opportunity then? You could lie to Vivienne and whoever else to keep the peace. I’m sure I could act convincingly depressed too.”

Josephine nodded, “I would be willing to try at least. Leliana? Cullen?”

“Yes Josie. If we can’t find a better solution, Dorian’s does work out quite nicely.”

“…I swear, this had better be the last time 'blood magic’ gets wrapped up in my life… I’m fine with this plan. He’s been as kind to me as anyone else…”

\-----

When it became evident that Sera wasn’t coming, Leliana went out to the Herald’s Rest to look for her. She never had to actually enter the tavern however, spotting the woman fussing on the roof by her silhouette in the window light. Sera was scribbling in a book furiously, swearing profusely when she ripped through one of the pages. She then proceeded to rip it out and shredded it in her hands before trying and failing to chuck the scraps over the lip of the roof.

“Sera, we need to talk to you.”

“Piss off!”

Cole pulled up beside the spymaster from the shadows, “Scared, sad, he’s so selfish. He was supposed to be a friend. An elf who wasn’t better than me and always tried.” Cole called up to Sera, “He wants to be someone else like you wish he was someone else!”

“F-off Creepy!” Sera reached inside and grabbed her bow, shooting the hat off the spirit’s head. “None of you know shite! Shove off!” A second arrow lodged itself between Leliana’s feet.

Cole hurried to get his hat back on before running away.

Leliana folded her arms and tapped one of her feet, “We can decide without you if you’d like.”

“Decide what yeah? Just get it over with! The bitch is right okay! Leave me out of this shite!” She crawled back into the tavern through her open window, likely slipping off to hide somewhere more effective. Leliana shook her head slightly. Sera was as slippery as some of her best men when she didn’t want to be caught. The information she’d gotten out of her would have to be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Elvyr'el – Simpler  
> eth'el – safer  
> enemah'sal ebalasha – about to repeat [the] grief  
> Sa'lin'on'el – Someone (literally: one blood) better  
> ara'falon – my lifelong friend  
> alin – stranger


End file.
